I Think It's You
by Vespaer
Summary: Written for the Reylo Week 2018 prompt: Wounds I aimed for angst. I think I nailed the mark. Right?


**I Think It's You**

"It's you, you know," Ben Solo groused at Rey.

"What?"

"This only happens when you're around. It's think it's you."

"Me? Don't be ridiculous." He noticed she wouldn't make eye contact with him, though, preferring to keep herself engrossed with her hands as they rummaged through the medical field kit for a light bacta patch and a clean linen bandage. "Isn't that kind of peasant superstition beneath you?"

"Now you're just being rude." Not willing to let his point drop, he snatched the linen from her hand before she could even start unrolling it.

"Hey!"

"Look at this," he commanded, waggling the bound lump of cloth in the direction of his own face. "Look at it. Remember this?"

"Yes, Ben, I remember giving you that scar, stars forbid you allow me to forget. But if I recall you were trying to chop off certain parts of me as well and - oh yes! Didn't you have _your own_ light saber?" She made a face and plucked the linen from his fingers. "Maybe one of us is just clearly superior in combat."

"Oh come on! We both know that I'm - that's just... that's - my shoulder! What about my shoulder, Rey?!"

"Same fight, doesn't count."

"Okay, fine. Exhibit B. The Throne Room of the Supremacy. Who brushed herself off and then went wandering around looking for, I don't know, escape shuttles or something like nothing happened?" He leaned forward for emphasis. "And who was still out cold on the floor?"

"Oh you can't be serious!" Her fists jabbed into her hips. "I am not responsible for what happened there - we _both_ were, and just so you know I had a massive headache for three days!"

"Only three days, huh? Yeah. That's cute. And for the record, you were completely responsible. _You_ reached for the saber."

"Ben, I am not having this argument with you again." She planted a palm forcibly against his chest and shoved him back into his seat to sit him upright.

"Alright, then how about this," he halted her by grasping her wrist. "Exhibit C - Tython."

* * *

 _Then: Exhibit C - Tython_

"There," Rey had whispered to herself as she placed the finishing touches. There was great power in the ancient forge, where so many Jedi had come before her for generations, crafting their weapons and imbuing them with the strength and the purpose that could only be found in such a holy place. She hadn't made it ten steps down the crumbling stone stairs, however, when the familiar screams of TIE fighter engines shattered the tranquil serenity that clung to the ruins like old grey moss.

They'd recently gotten intel that the Order would try to take Tython. There was a lot to gain by such a maneuver, politically, and the world was steeped in the heady brew of time, old faith, and the Force. It was the kind of target that was likely a high priority item on Snoke's to-do list. It was the perfect opening move for a fledgling Supreme Leader that still had something to prove to his dead master, least of all to himself. And it was a fitting place to build her staff, considering it would also be the place where she'd put it to first use.

They'd ended up facing off in the ruins of the old Jedi Temple, specifically in the remains of an old bailey that encased what used to be a practice yard at one time. Their combat had been athletic and artistic and spectacular, but she could tell he hadn't been sleeping well. There had been dark circles under his eyes and he'd tired more quickly than she'd anticipated. Before she'd been pressured into dealing him a blow that would do more than just end their duel, he'd been toppled by a volley of Force, pushed backwards and off of his feet. She never even got the time to advance on him - the grassy, timeworn cobblestones that'd cushioned his landing gave out from beneath him, revealing the open, empty chasm of an old musty wine cellar beneath. She'd heard the resounding snap of his leg breaking from where she'd stood up top. It had signaled her to make a clean getaway before reinforcements arrived.

* * *

 _NOW_

"Oh honestly," she chastised him, "there was no possible way either one of us could have known the ground we were on was hollow."

"I'm not saying you knew, Rey, I'm saying you're _cursed_."

"Oh come off it," she muttered, monotone, as she squinted and took a swab to the wound to clean it. "There's no such thing as curses."

"Oh really? Okay! OW!"

"Stop squirming! And stop being a baby!"

He shot her a look so piercing and so serious he could have convinced a cleric there was no Maker.

"You are _cursed_. I give you Exhibit D. Tatooine."

* * *

 _Then: Exhibit D - Tatooine_

She could tell by the way his form was indistinct - his image blurry as if captured in motion - that something had been wrong. His voice had faded in and out and had sounded canned and distant. And urgent.

For months they'd been talking in secret. At first she'd wanted nothing more to do with him, and rightly so. Contact with him was risky, even through their private bond, and she'd bore no pretense of having any trust in him. But he'd been so incessant. To the point of badgering, really. Which was sort of his modus operandi. There had been things they'd both learned during their time on Tython... outside of how to survive a fifteen foot fall. There were legends on Tython, and truths. Lessons. And ghosts. They'd both walked away from the planet with questions.

Metaphorically. Metaphorically walked away.

They'd both left the planet questioning their own faith, questioning things they'd thought they knew. Rey had had no teacher, and Ren had fundamentally disagreed with his for... reasons. There had been no one else to turn to. So... she'd opened the door.

Tatooine had been a good world to build a resistance base. It'd boasted a brutally marginal enough climate that no one really wanted to go looking for them there... let alone be there. And the desert had been an easy place to lose pursuers. It helped if one happened to be veteran desert dweller. But because Tatooine had such an iconic and easily recognizable landscape, Rey had chosen to speak with Ben either indoors or underground... or most often late at night.

When he'd called to her that day, however, it'd been early morning. Granted, time was relative from place to place, but the routine had definitely been interrupted. And the connection had been... frantic. Rushed, or forced. Panicked. She'd only been able to make out a few words.

"I can't..."

"...who I am anymore..."

"...don't want this..."

"It's not safe."

"... Hux...kill me..."

"Please help me!"

She'd drawn attention to herself when she'd leaped to her feet at the breakfast table, but not as much attention as the sentries at their posts. Their cries had come screeching across the buzzing static pouring from at least three other hand held transponders in the room. Chaos had erupted from there as the rebels knocked over cups and upended chairs in their haste to race for their gear and their weaponry. The Silencer had been spotted, and was incoming.

Rey had breached the surface just in time to watch the ship's black avian silhouette streak past their base with a high pitched whistle and bash belly first into the tawny, shifting sea of sand dunes. She'd flung a hand up to her eyes to shield them from the blinding rays of the planet's twin suns as a geyser of sand and flame and smoke spewed skyward from the wreckage.

She would never forget the sound he'd made as she'd closed the distance alongside their group of first responders, hurriedly dragging along canisters of fire suppressant foam. The way he'd wailed and choked in pain... she would never forget the blood that had soaked the whites of his eyes as he'd gazed at her in horror, begging for asylum. Begging for mercy.

Begging for safety.

* * *

 _NOW. Again._

"Ben," Rey sang his name, placing a gentle kiss on the freshly applied bacta patch. She still gave him a sideways glare, though, as she began winding the linen around his hand. "I will not let you profane my memory of that day. That was the best day of my life."

This mollified him slightly, but Ben Solo wasn't exactly known for letting things go without a fight.

"I'm just saying," he replied, "that I had never crashed a ship before I met you. And I've never had so many broken bones, I've lost count of the number of stitches I've received..."

"What can I say," she smiled, cocking her head to the side as she tied a knot in the bandage, "love hurts."

"It's not fair," he grumbled at her. "It's an imbalance. It's a disturbance in the Force - think of the Force, Rey."

"I'm fairly positive the Force knows you only burned your hand on the stove." She kissed his forehead as she stood.

"This was supposed to be a romantic meal, and now you've ruined it. With your stupid curse." He just stared at her and blinked expectantly, like there was something else she was supposed to say in response.

Without hesitation she tore off her shirt and let it fall to the floor in a soft heap. She tossed her hair about her shoulders and swiveled her hips with flourish.

"Then maybe we should just skip dinner, draw a bath, and enjoy dessert with a bottle of wine."

"I, um," he swallowed and stammered the way he always did at the sight of her naked breasts, "yes. That's definitely the will of the Force, yes."

 _Fin_


End file.
